32. Georgia
32
GEORGIA
W e went to a private dining room in an upscale casino for dinner.
“Wow, the prisoner’s getting parole tonight?” I mused as I grabbed a menu excitedly. Okay, a few days in, and I was already grateful for just getting to be outside.
Perfect. My mental health is looking really good.
“Just for a few hours, so don’t get too worked up,” Elio said to me calmly, watching me peruse the menu.
The food sounded amazing. I worked my way through the list, my mouth watering.
A knock at the door sent the security in the room on high alert.
“Wait, we aren’t eating alone?”
Elio’s eyes were trained on the door. “You’ll be happy to hear that no, we’re not. Be on your best behavior.”
I blinked at him. “You’re letting me be around someone else? What if I tell them you kidnapped me and forced me to marry you?”
Elio shrugged. “Feel free. If you think you’ll find help or sympathy from the man we’re having dinner with, you’re sorely mistaken.”
The doorway filled with a tall, broad man. I suddenly registered just how many De Sanctis men were in the room. Way more than Elio usually rolled with. This man was someone important, and dangerous.
The man approached, and a shock of recognition flowed through me.
His angular face and chiseled features were immediately familiar. It took me a second to place him, and then it clicked.
“Good evening, Mr. Santori. I’m glad that we finally found the time to sit down and talk business,” the man said, looming over us.
His Russian accent was just as I remembered it.
I shot to my feet, feeling awkward just sitting while another man waited to be greeted.
“And is this your lovely new wife — my, what a small world,” the man continued.
“You’ve met before?” Elio asked, still sitting. But despite being the only one sitting, he wasn’t weakened by the pose. If anything, the gesture rang with power.
It was an effortless display of dominance, and we all knew it.
The Russian smirked and shifted his eyes to me. “I had the pleasure of an introduction in LA.” He reached out then and took my hand. “Remind me, beautiful, of your name.”
He brought my hand toward his lips but never made it. Suddenly, Elio was standing right beside me, his hand moving like a whip to leash the Russian’s hand, stilling the movement before it could be completed.
“It’s Mrs. Santori to you, Sokolov.” Elio’s voice was hewn from stone.
“Ah, yes, of course,” Sokolov chuckled. He released my hand and shifted back. He eyed Elio with interest. “When I heard that you had married, I admit, I was surprised. I hadn’t heard any rumors of an important new addition to the De Sanctis family. Unless this is a new relationship… the exciting first flushes of infatuation?”
“On the contrary,” Elio said coolly, his expressionless facade back in place. “My wife and I have known each other since we were young.”
The Russian nodded. “Ah, a first love then? Beautiful. Enjoy it, Santori. It is a rare find.” He turned to me. “Your name was Georgia, wasn’t it? I’m Roman. Roman Sokolov. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Georgia.”
I nodded, not particularly wanting to wade into the bristling tension between the two men.
“Let’s sit. We didn’t come here to chitchat.”
Elio sat, and so I followed his example.
I had no idea what they were meeting about, except it appeared to be business and made me wonder why the hell Elio had brought me here.
“Sokolov runs Philadelphia. He and Renato might have shared interests, if they decide to work together,” Elio told me. He shifted toward me, laying an arm along the back of my chair. “First, we need to see if we could work together.”
“What your husband means that if he approves of me enough, he might make the introduction to your capo, so I’ll be on my best behavior tonight.”
“You’ll be on more than your best behavior around my wife,” Elio said starkly.
“Elio!” I gasped. The insinuation that Roman might hit on me was embarrassing to say the least.
Roman simply nodded. “Of course, another man’s happy wife is never to be touched.”
“A happy wife? So, if I wasn’t happy, that rule wouldn’t apply?” I asked.
Roman nodded. “Of course not. A woman should be happy with her situation… or it should be remedied.”
I slanted a look at Elio. “Did you hear that?”
Roman laughed, a deep, rich chuckle. “Am I taking your line of questioning as a cry for help?”
“Sokolov,” Elio said in a low warning tone.
“What would you do if I said yes?” I asked, enjoying the chance to get to Elio and make him feel awkward for once, instead of the other way around. “Would you take me away? Call the cops for me?”
Roman let out a boom of laughter and shook his head. “You’ve married quite the woman, Santori, congratulations. Women should be full of fire and never afraid to speak their minds… it keeps life interesting.” He turned to me. “No cops, of course, and no, I wouldn’t be taking you anywhere. A wife is a husband’s property, like it’s always been… I’d simply give your husband advice on how to better please you.”
His gaze drifted over me. “It wouldn’t be hard.”
My mouth dropped open with shock at his words, but before I had time to respond, Elio tossed his napkin onto the table, picked up one of the many forks at his place setting, twirled it expertly between his fingers, and drove it through Roman’s hand, pinning it to the tabletop.
I screamed, jarred by the sudden sight of blood splashing across the white linen. The security around the room tensed. De Sanctis men drew their weapons and held them on the Russians before the other side could even reach for their guns.
Roman grunted and swore. His security spoke to him in a rush of Russian, and he waved his free hand at them, sending them back to their posts.
“Elio! We need to get help or—” I babbled and tried to stand.
Elio tugged my arm so I fell back into my seat.
“Do you know what you want to order?” he asked me, nodding toward the menu.
I stared at him, dumbfounded. A man was bleeding right next to us, a fork impaling his hand and pinning it to the table, and my husband just asked me what I felt like eating.
“You’ll enjoy the scallops here, and the porcini tagliatelle ,” Elio continued as if everything was perfectly normal.
Just then a waiter appeared, his eyes averted from the scene at the table.
“Georgia, what would you like to eat? Tell me or I’ll order for you,” Elio instructed, completely unruffled by the situation.
My mouth opened and closed, but I couldn’t find any words.
Elio sighed and looked at the waiter. “Bring us one of everything on the menu. My wife is feeling indecisive.”
He picked up his wine glass and settled back in his chair, his arm still lying across the back of mine, and regarded Roman.
He raised an eyebrow at the Russian.
“Well, Sokolov… apologize to my wife. Your bad manners have put her off her dinner.”
Roman chuckled and nodded toward me. “I apologize, Mrs. Santori. Don’t let me ruin your appetite.”
There was a tense moment as I stared between the two men, and then I realized that Elio was waiting for me to speak.
“It’s fine, really. Are you okay?” My voice was a muted murmur.
Roman shrugged. “I’m fine. It’s just a scratch. In our line of work, you get used to a certain amount of liability. And Mr. Santori here, and his boss, are very dangerous men… as I’m sure you know. It was my mistake to flirt with his wife. I’m sure men have died for less.”
I thought of Jimmy De Luca, shot in the head when he’d kissed me in the church, and shivered involuntarily. Elio Santori was a very, very dangerous man. He was watching me with those jade eyes, so familiar yet so unrecognizable from the boy I’d known. My heart thumped. My ghost, made flesh. Living and breathing, right there beside me.
And yet… It didn’t matter what he did, or who else he hurt… I knew he’d never hurt me. There was nowhere in the world I was safer than by his side.
A very dangerous man… and my husband.
“Yes, he is dangerous. You shouldn’t forget it, Mr. Sokolov, if you value your appendages.”
Roman let out a cackle as he pulled the fork from his hand and wrapped a napkin around the wound.
“Consider me warned. Now, let’s eat.”